


After

by tealeaf523 (ConstantComment)



Series: 12 Days of Fanfic (2012) [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-06 13:26:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/736196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantComment/pseuds/tealeaf523
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happens too often.</p><p>(Post Reichenbach Fall.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vaysh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaysh/gifts).



> Prompt: comfort (sex) after Sherlock's "death" - which I took to mean quite some time after the event

It happens too often.

But, it's only when he's got fingers bruising into his shoulders and a cock shoving into him so deep he's braced against the headboard that he feels he can breathe again. This is isn't the first time Lestrade has rescued him from the crushing feeling in John's chest since Sherlock...

Since Sherlock.

But, somehow it's turned into this sick game, where they meet at some pub in the city, eat nothing but chips and beer, and get pissed enough that John can pretend he wants Greg's lips against his stomach or his fingers under the collar of his shirt more than he wants his partner--his friend--back, and then they go to Greg's flat and they'll fuck. Against a wall in the entryway, or over the sofa, or in Greg's unmade bed.

It's the bed tonight, and John savours the moist breath on the back of his neck as Greg mashes his forehead into the curve at his nape, like he cannot bear it, and John can't either, really. It's when the game turns into the somewhat uneven hitch of Greg's hips and sweat pooling behind John's knees and lips against his temple that John remembers that life does continue after someone dies.

He never had this with Sherlock, of course, but they were inseparable and compatible. Even if Sherlock sometimes forgot John existed and left eyeballs in the microwave and had very dangerous notions of what constituted fun. But, John had taken Sherlock for granted as well.

"John," Greg groans and reaches around to grasp at John's cock, fat and dripping precome on the duvet.

"Do it," John rasps, trying to let it all go for just a moment, because Greg wants to give that to him, and because John wants to give it to Greg, even if he can't. Fully.

Greg makes him come, back in a painful arch, and John's arms give out as Greg fills him up, hands vicelike on his hips.

"John," Greg says, quiet, and tries to rearrange them so they can face each other, half-heartedly tugging the covers over their feet as the mess under John's arse starts to dry.

John lets him push him this way and that because Greg is lonely, and because John is too tired. But, he's not tired enough to ignore the ticking under his skin, the inevitable itch that makes him want to get as far away as possible. Because there is nothing--nothing--to be done.

Within a quarter-hour, John is prying Lestrade's fingers from the places they've snuck during the foggy parts after orgasm, and puts his clothes back on. He needs food but he's not hungry, and he feels guilty but not enough to kiss the pathetic look off of Lestrade's face.

Instead, John closes locks the door to Lestrade's apartment on the way out, making it all the way to the cemetery before he realises what he's done.

It happens too often.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [runswithwolves](http://runswithwolves.tumblr.com/post/73264305223) over on tumblr. Come say hi!


End file.
